


Sh*t just got real serious.

by millygal



Category: Ghostbusters (Movies 1984-1989), Scooby Doo Where Are You! (TV 1969), Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 19:57:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14220642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: This is what happens when you let amateurs try their hand at hunting...





	Sh*t just got real serious.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nomercles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomercles/gifts).



> Let's pretend that the latest episode didn't happen for the purposes of this fic, not because I didn't ADORE IT LIKE WOAH but because if it *did* then this wouldn't make sense ;) This is utter crack and for nomercles! 'Cause she attackbunnied me! Also, based off of this pic - 
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> Thank you jj1564 for the beta, as always - you legend x♥x
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> There is one line in here that is SO pinched from The Green Mile. You'll know it when you see it.

Dean swings Baby’s wheel, hard, and drags her big, beautiful ass into the parking lot at Grumpy’s, expecting to be the only eclectic looking ride taking up space outside the restaurant and bar, when he’s met by two equally bizarre looking vehicles parked one space apart and mocking him. “What the actual fuck? Sammy, wake up - quick, look at this shit!”

Sam stirs, wipes drool from his chin, and stares at Dean who’s letting loose a steady stream of trucker worthy curse words. “Wha - what is it? We here already?”

“Yes, we’re here already, and look who beat us to the punch, again. Fucking amateurs keep pokin’ their damned noses into our cases. Huntin’ ain’t for teens or over the hill scientists. This has gotta stop. It was bad enough when we had to avoid the Ghostfacers, let alone this lot of fools.”

Dean’s out of the car and practically running across the parking lot before Sam can shake himself awake enough to realise he’s looking at the two four-wheeled monstrosities that keep turning up at every damned Hunt they’ve been on for the last two months. “Oh hell no. Dean, wait UP!”

Sam flies from the car and chases after Dean, who’s already yanking open the restaurant’s double door. “DEAN, don’t do anything STUPID!”

Dean completely ignores Sam in favour of fixing the assembled morons all milling about inside the building with the same withering look John used to lay on his youngest son when he said he was thinking about going away to school. “Hey, douchenozzles, what the hell are you doing here?”

Peter Venkman spins on the spot, almost over balancing as his proton pack slips sideways on his back, and throws a sneer at Dean, who’s reaching into the waistband of his jeans, about ready to pull a gun on the dick giving him the stink eye. It’s only Sam barrelling through the door that stops Dean shoving the muzzle of his Colt M19 up against Peter’s temple.

“Dean, Dean, calm. They’re just doing their - “

Dean rounds on Sam. “If you say their jobs I swear I’ll cold cock you. This isn’t their job, none of them. The tweens in the corner with the talking dog who should have diabetes by now, are gonna get themselves killed. As for this lot of arthritic idiots carrying Dysons on their backs, they’re just plain crazy. I’m sick and fuckin’ tired of gettin’ to a hunt and findin’ they’ve completely screwed the pooch or scared off all potential witnesses.”

Dean begins to heavy breathe and mutter under his breath and Sam has to wrap an arm around his shoulders and guide him to an empty booth, before straightening up and giving each and every person staring at his brother like he’s lost his mind a serious eyebrow quirk and a stern head shake. “Guys, I know Dean can be a bit - much - but he’s right. What are you doing here? How many times have we had to save your asses from the things you’re trying to _unmask_ or **trap**? For the last time, Fred, Daphne, Velma, Shaggy, Scooby - ghosts are real. Vampires are _real_. Ghouls are **real**. All the nasty creepy crawly bastards you’ve assumed are just shady real estate developers, are REAL.”

The Scooby Gang take a collective step back from Sam, who’s gaining a mouth frothing, heart rate raising, head of steam.

Sam turns and throws his best bitch face at the Ghostbusting team, a team lead by a man who is starting to think they might be out of their depth, and about to get offed by a Hunter with a tic in his left eye.

“As for YOU lot. Slimer will be the least of your worries if a Rougarou or a Shifter get their claws on you. You can’t cage a monster, guys, you just can’t. Containment doesn’t work when the thing you’re trying to shove in a giant metal box can rip through you like tissue paper. Crossing the streams won’t help you if a Werewolf decides you’re a nummy treat to nibble on, got it?!”

The room is shrouded in silence as Dean continues to mutter and twitch, and Sam kneels down next to his brother, just to check he hasn’t finally let his cheese slide completely off his cracker. “Dean, Dean, come on man, you can’t lose it now. How am I ‘sposed to get this lot of idiots out of here if you’re rocking back and forward in a booth?”

Dean’s about to turn to Sam and start spitting x-rated words when a high pitched keen sounds, forcing everyone in the room to cover their ears and cry out in pain.

As Dean screeches and swings his head left and right, he feels himself being filled with a ghost so malevolent it scares him more than he’s been in a very long time. It’s as if he’s watching from outside the restaurant as his body begins to tear through the guys and girls all trying to figure out how to free him from the clutches of the vengeful spirit.

Sam tries to pin Dean’s arms to his sides and is bodily thrown across the room.

Landing heavily on his ass and thankfully not hitting his poor abused head on anything hard and flat, Sam watches, in awe, as Peter and Daphne link arms and clothesline Dean.

Dean’s legs go out from under him and he hits the deck, and Winston and Velma barrel towards him, using all their body weight to pin him to the floor whilst Egon and Fred start intoning an exorcism rite that they’ve clearly never read aloud before.

Sam’s eyes roll up in his skull but he’s aware enough to realise that Shaggy and Scooby are throwing handfuls and pawfuls of salt at his brother, who’s hissing and spitting beneath Winston and Velma.

Finally the last words of the spirit exorcism are shouted into the howling wind ripping through the restaurant and everything goes deathly quiet.

The only sound piercing the silence is Dean’s groaning as he tries to fling the two bodies still pinning him to the floor, off his back.

Sam might be close to permanent concussion, but he’s not far enough gone that he doesn’t realise the Scooby Gang and the Ghostbusters just saved their asses, saved his brother from doing something murderous under the influence of a pissed off ghost, and he can’t help the smirk at the self-satisfied grins adorning each and every face now staring down at Dean, who’s looking mightily embarrassed.

Dean shakes his head and rubs his temples. “How did you - where did you - “

Shaggy steps up next to Dean and crouches down level with the Hunter’s confused eyes and wrinkled brow. “Hey man, you don’t think after the massive amounts of telling offs you gave us all, we didn’t start paying attention - and researching - did you?”

Sam can’t help the loud guffaw that slips past his lips as Dean rolls his eyes and tries to find a way of saying thank you without letting them know he would be seriously dead without their help.

“I - Uh - cheers - I guess - just next time you get a shout, call us, okay?”

The assembled ranks of amateurs all facing Dean and grinning, nod once, in unison, and offer their hands to help the Hunter off the floor.

Sam drags himself upright and hooks an arm around Dean’s shoulders before shoving him towards the front door. “We’ll leave you lot to clean up, yeah?”

Fred and Peter lean in close to each other and chuckle as Dean can be heard mumbling about damned fool day-trippers learning more than enough to become dangerous, and they can’t help the warm smiles as Sam looks over his shoulder and winks at them all.

Peter chuckles and clears his throat. “Maybe not such giant dicks after all, huh, Freddy?”

“Maybe not, but I sure wish I’d had my phone on me, Velma flattening Dean’s face to the floor with her thigh would have kept me laughing for months.”


End file.
